An Elf's Tale, Part 25

Where were they going? And why? 

It was a pair of questions that continued to hound for her attention since they first left the manor grounds in a hurry. The words seeped into her thoughts often enough that it was to the point of being obnoxious.

Here she was, hurtling across a sea of snow on a horse, with falling flakes clinging to her hair, the rush of wind breathing a new life, a new air that felt so cold, so liberating—her second taste of freedom after so long kept confined behind sealed doors, wandering seemingly endlessly the empty, oppressive halls of stone and marble. 

And yet the questions still remained. 

Eshwlyn closely followed the silver-white steed, the manic flutter of a sumptuous traveling cloak blowing wild with the breeze in front of her, noticing the path ahead of them growing only narrower and denser with shriveled trees looming at them closer.